In a Caged World
by Shades of Ink
Summary: The thought flew through me, an uplifting rush, a small flutter of memory, and I found myself on the extremity of knowing, of remembering, of feeling…" Life and memory drastically affected by the war from a patient's obscured point of view. One shot.


Official Legal Disclaimer of Official-ness: If you recognize anything in here it's because you're either supernaturally intuitive, or it belongs to a detestably rich British author who shall remain nameless.  
  
Author's Note: Well, the story is riddled with repeated sentences, changing tenses from past to present and present to past, and obvious things that would irk a sophisticated reader.  
  
But it's from a patient's point of view, and I tried to make it as genuinely jumbled as I could. So, keep an open mind – it's supposed to be written awfully.  
  
~~  
  
In a Caged World  
  
~~  
  
Today is a simple day – and for all I can remember, the first day of my life.  
  
"It's morning, dear. Wake up."  
  
I'd rather not.  
  
"The sun is shining, dear."  
  
I know. I can see it. The ceiling's white again.  
  
A cheery voice spoke. "You'll be having visitors today!"  
  
Do I know anyone? Who's visiting? Can I leave? The ceiling is white again.  
  
"I know you've been looking forward to this for a while now."  
  
Looking forward to what? Yes, I have. What happened yesterday?  
  
"And you too, Frank. You'll have to get up."  
  
Frank is a nice name. I love that name. Frank is a nice name.  
  
"They should be coming around lunchtime... and my heavens, look at the time!"  
  
Now I remember. Nothing happened yesterday. How long have I been here? Who was coming?  
  
"Glory be, both of you have slept the morning away!"  
  
Both? How many people were in the room? Were there many healers speaking, or could the one just change her voice? I didn't shift my gaze – the ceiling was white again.  
  
"Now let's get up!"  
  
I remembered countless times waking up just like this. Or was it only once? How long have I been here?  
  
The cheery voice had left. Now a resigned voice spoke in surrender. "I have a candy, Alice. Droobles."  
  
I heard my voice speaking in reply. It was awkward – even painful, like spitting forth stones from the pit of my stomach – yet something told me I'd done it before... "D – dr – Droobles?"  
  
"Yes, dear. Drooble's Best Blowing Gum."  
  
It sounds good. Perhaps I've had it before?  
  
I sat up in my hospital bed, no longer facing the ceiling, but the face of a young woman. She was pretty. Maybe there'd only been one healer in the room all along.  
  
She slipped the bribe into my grasping fingers.  
  
"I'll leave some more on the bedside table over there. Right next to you, dear."  
  
Thank you. I like those.  
  
I felt the table. It was solid, unlike the bed. Wobbling slightly, I stood.  
  
I'm taller.  
  
The young healer left, smiling proudly with a tinge of sadness.  
  
There is a bed next to mine, I can see now. Who is that man?  
  
Turning around, I noticed drawn curtains blocking my path. My mind working, the pieces fitting together, the wheels turning, I found a solution. I pushed the curtains aside.  
  
There had been another healer, after all. She's older than the other one.  
  
The room is festive. Why are they putting green and red together? They clashed so.  
  
I saw other people in the room. Confused people. One slept, another had a furry face – the fur looks soft, I like soft things – another wrote frivolously, his hand leaving the parchment and continuing onto his bed sheets, writing frivolously... writing... frivolously writing...  
  
Do I know how to write? Why won't they let me write anything? It's been so long... How long have I been here? Can I leave now?  
  
The older healer is speaking to me.  
  
"Oh, Mrs. Longbottom!"  
  
I turned around to see whom she was speaking to, but the healer gently pulled my shoulders, and guided my head to face her.  
  
It was a pity – I wanted to meet Mrs. Longbottom. I always heard so much talk of her.  
  
"Your visitors are right outside the door, so if you'll go back to your bed, they'll be coming in..."  
  
But I don't want to go back to the bed. I've been in it for hours upon hours.  
  
How long had I been here? Could I leave yet?  
  
A boy entered with an old woman. For some reason beyond my limited sense, I found myself on the edge of my bed, an eager smile playing on my mumbling lips. I didn't have to ask if these were my visitors. I simply knew.  
  
The old woman gave the boy a small nudge in the back. "Hullo," he mumbled.  
  
My mouth was open for a reply, but all that came out was a hoarse squeak. I smiled to get the point across, my mouth still open. The boy didn't smile.  
  
But, no, he wasn't a boy... he wasn't a man either. What was he then?  
  
Who is he?  
  
Why do I love him?  
  
The thought flew through me, an uplifting rush, a small flutter of memory, and I found myself on the extremity of knowing, of remembering, of feeling...  
  
I put my hands to my face, unable to understand the warm tears that threatened to burst behind my eyes.  
  
"It's okay, mum."  
  
Mum. The tears fell. I loved that word. So warm, so warm. The tears fell. Mum, so warm.  
  
The old woman forced a smile in vain, brushing away the sadness that had crept into her somber eyes, and around the corners of her mouth.  
  
"How have you been?" she asked cheerfully... she was cheerful...  
  
Have I ever been cheerful? I smiled, wondering if the old woman had said anything.  
  
"Have they treated you well?"  
  
I looked past the woman to the boy – the boy older than a boy– who was fiddling with the end of his shirt. Has he ever been cheerful?  
  
The baby had. I remember the baby. The baby came all the time with the old woman. The baby was happy. I felt happy. But the baby stopped coming, after a while.  
  
I was still smiling at the boy – the boy who was too dead to smile. Where had the baby gone?  
  
Where had my life gone?  
  
There was mumbling next to me. I was once more reminded of how much I loved the name Frank. Frank was a nice name.  
  
"Frank, dear, I'm right here... can you see me, Frank?"  
  
I wonder if I'll ever meet Frank. He sounds like a wonderful man. Maybe it's the name – I can't quite put my finger on it.  
  
Amidst my musings, I caught what sounded like the resigned tone of a farewell. I strained for the words, a sign amid the jabber.  
  
Hush, I want to listen.  
  
"Well, we'll see you when Neville gets out of school, alright, dear? And you too, Alice. I'll be coming back, alright?"  
  
My head fell back slightly, my eyes were shut tightly – searching for a coherent union of syllables. I had stones in my throat again. Each word came out individually – a rough, bulky object – my lips mouthing the words, praying for sound...  
  
"Where – ee – guh – ?"  
  
The old woman spun around so fast, the bird on her head threatened to fly off. Surprise held her mouth agape – hope held her eyes on me. "Sorry, dear? What was that?"  
  
"Where... you go – ing... ?"  
  
The woman didn't answer, I was looking straight at the boy. He watched the outside beyond thick glass windows with mild interest; a cover for his discomfort.  
  
"Home," he said. "But I'll be back, mum."  
  
Can I go with you? I opened my mouth again, but the words – the rough, large, obstinate words wouldn't leave me. Can I go with you? Please, let me go! I want to leave. I can't talk here, I can't think here, I can't love here, I can't...  
  
I can't... can't... the thought failed me, lost in oblivion. I was left to sit there, cracked, thoughtless, as my son opened the drawn curtains.  
  
I have to go. I have to find Frank. I have to find that baby. The baby was gone now, I had to find it. I wanted to find the man who bore the name I loved so dearly.  
  
I wanted to finally meet Mrs. Longbottom. Perhaps she'd welcome me, if we'd met before...  
  
My mind started with a jolt again. The curtains were open. Following was a simple thought, a simple instinct; the instinct to follow to where things were better. Things had to be better than this.  
  
The world wasn't a cage.  
  
This door... this door led me out.  
  
"And – oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?"  
  
I heard voices conversing - other boys, a girl - all talking, their eyes wide open.  
  
I've never seen them before. I looked around me seeing if I could find Mrs. Longbottom. She was nowhere in sight.  
  
The one boy was leaving – my visitor; my only connection outside.  
  
I have to give something back. Something – anything.  
  
But I had nothing. Not one tangible thing – not even words. I stuck my hand deep into my pocket, fishing for something familiar, the outside to my candy. Now it came back. The boy held his hand out, remembering that I gave him a candy wrapper every time.  
  
It crinkled in my fingers, a familiar sound of gratitude. I was glad the boy had come. He made me remember the baby... whom I loved.  
  
The old woman said something dismissive, patted me on the shoulder, but the boy held my gaze. A worn smile haunted his eyes, but an impulsive frown encumbered him. It seemed the thought of joy was burdening.  
  
"Thanks, mum." It was quiet enough that I had no choice but to listen. His whisper was short, I hadn't caught the meaning, but it soothed me.  
  
It's like a song. A soft song. I think I've heard it before.  
  
Involuntarily, a hummed melody escaped my lips. My spirits were uplifted, my Frank was there. Somewhere in my mind, he sang with me.  
  
And the baby. My slippers made rough sliding noises against the bare hospital floor. The baby was with me. I didn't remember them. I didn't remember my life, my friends, my battles, or how I'd gotten this way.  
  
I didn't remember the baby, but he remembered me.  
  
Chewing my gum absentmindedly, and drawing the curtains around my bed, I stepped back into my cage.  
  
~~ 


End file.
